Chapter 5 - The Declaration That Broke the World
“Is there a problem with my staff, Kosoff?” Luca asked, his voice low, steady, and terrifyingly cold.
His grip on Dmitri’s shoulder tightened visibly, forcing the Russian gangster an inch deeper into his seat.
Dmitri winced beneath the pressure, his knuckles turning white as he set his vodka glass down.
“Just admiring the excellent hospitality of the Moretti household, Luca,” Dmitri muttered through gritted teeth.
“She is a servant,” Luca whispered, leaning down so his words reached only Dmitri and Luna.
“And in this house, my people do not converse with vultures who lack the courage to carry their own weapons.”
Luca released the Russian’s shoulder and turned his full attention toward Luna.
His gaze swept over her pale face, lingering on the bandaged palm tucked tightly against her apron.
For a brief second, the terrifying mob boss looked almost vulnerable as he searched her brown eyes.
“Go to the back of the room, Luna,” he said softly, his voice devoid of any threat. “Stay near Maria.”
Luna nodded quickly, not daring to speak, and retreated swiftly toward the safety of the serving arches.
Her heart pounded in her ears like thunder, the memory of Luca’s protective presence sending chills through her body.
She had barely reached the safety of the service doors when the orchestra abruptly ceased playing.
A heavy silence fell over the grand ballroom, snuffing out the laughter, the boasting, and the clinking glasses.
At the top of the grand marble staircase, Don Salvatore Moretti stepped onto the landing.
He leaned heavily on an ivory-handled walking cane, flanked by four heavily armed capos with drawn expressions.
The hundred heiresses immediately straightened their postures, smoothing their designer dresses in anticipation.
Katarina Vulov stepped toward the foot of the stairs, her chin tilted high in triumphant certainty.
Her father, Grigori Vulov, stood nearby with his arms crossed, smiling as if the Moretti empire was already his.
“Allied families of the five territories,” Don Salvatore’s raspy voice echoed through the massive room.
Microphones concealed within the chandeliers carried his frail words to every dark corner.
“For fifty years, the Moretti family has held this city through blood, sacrifice, and honor.”
“Tonight, my reign draws toward its sunset, and the dawn belongs entirely to my son, Luca.”
The old Don paused, taking a shallow, painful breath as he gripped his walking stick.
“The succession requires a bride to ensure our bloodline remains unbroken against our enemies.”
“Luca has observed each of your daughters tonight and considered every alliance presented to our table.”
Don Salvatore gestured toward his son, who now stood at the bottom of the grand stairs.
“Step forward, my son, and name the woman who will wear the Moretti diamond and rule this empire beside you.”
The room held its breath, the collective tension so thick it felt like ready gunpowder.
Katarina Vulov took half a step forward, a radiant, victorious smile breaking across her porcelain face.
Luca did not look at her.
He did not look at the daughter of the Chicago boss, nor the heiress of the Boston fleet.
Instead, Luca turned his back on the assembled mafia nobility and walked slowly toward the back of the room.
The crowd parted before him like water, murmuring in confusion as the terrifying heir ignored their daughters.
His dark boots clicked rhythmically against the polished marble, steady, calm, and unstoppable.
Luna felt the blood drain from her face as she realized his trajectory was leading directly toward her.
She took a panicked step backward, bumping against the pantry door, but Maria caught her arm.
Luca stopped three feet away from the service station, his green eyes locked onto Luna with absolute certainty.
He reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a velvet box, flipping it open with one thumb.
Inside rested a massive, flawless emerald ring surrounded by platinum teardrops, an heirloom of the founding Don.
Luca raised his right hand, pointing his finger directly at the terrified girl in the stained apron.
“I have made my decision, Father,” Luca announced, his voice ringing like a bronze bell across the silent hall.
“I choose Luna Reyes as my wife and the undisputed queen of the Moretti family.”
A collective gasp ripped through the ballroom, followed by an explosive, violent uproar of disbelief.
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Katarina Vulov turned pale as death, her lips trembling with humiliation as her father drew his weapon halfway.
Hundreds of hardened criminals reached for their guns, shouting curses and demanding an explanation for the insult.
